


coffee shop soundtrack

by sledgeroe



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cobb is an asshole, Everyone's a Dumbass, Fluff, M/M, Nostalgia, Oblivious Gene, The Author Regrets Nothing, This is a love story, oblivious babe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-02-29 00:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18767059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sledgeroe/pseuds/sledgeroe
Summary: Dick Winters gets a job at a coffee shop and inadvertently adopts 4 baristas, 1 chef, 1 delivery man, 3 lifeguards, 3 bar workers, 3 bouncers, 2 trainee doctors, 1 literature student, 1 construction worker, and apparently half of Santa Monica.





	1. Dick

**Author's Note:**

> i carry your heart with me (i carry it in  
> my heart) i am never without it (anywhere  
> i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done  
> by only me is your doing, my darling)  
> \- e.e. cummings

When Dick Winters wakes, it’s still dark outside. He squints slightly as his eyes adjust to the light of his bedroom. He can see the outline of his furniture, the building opposite him through the thin curtains, the dark shape of his dog Pat curled up at the bed at his feet. Feeling defeated, he climbs out of bed. He would’ve liked more time in bed to prepare for the day ahead, but he knows once he’s awake he’s not the type that can go back to sleep. Pat seems to sense him waking up, because she jumps up on the bed almost immediately to lick his face. Dick chuckles, sighing with a resounding, “Okay, okay, breakfast.”   
After feeding Pat, he opens the curtains and makes himself a cup of coffee, sitting on the one-seater sofa beside one of the windows, using the time to just silently watch the city. It’s been at least 4 months since he’d returned from service, but the city he grew up in still felt so foreign to him. He watches the sunrise with Pat curled up on his feet, watching as the grey city grows brighter, the buildings lazily reflecting the light of the sky. The bright hues seem to light up the city, and Dick watches it all, marvelling in the quickly growing hum of the city. By the time Dick gets up to get ready, cars are zooming past his window, the orange of the sky turning now to a light blue as people pour out onto the street, Santa Monica waking up for the early Monday morning rush to work. He lets his eyes close momentarily, letting the soft light wash against his eyelids. He feels peaceful for a few moments in the dark, with only the quiet rumble of city life outside his window & Pat’s slow breathing to pierce the quiet. Those few moments are disrupted, and are gone almost as soon as they’d come, ruined by the screams constantly filling Dick’s memories. He sees a man lying on a sandy plain, thick red blood oozing, the only colour for miles save the browns and greens of army uniform. Dick’s voice is as hoarse as he remembers, screaming for help. He opens his eyes slowly, trying to calm his heartbeat by breathing. He stands up.

 

Dick picks out his most casual suit, wanting to appear formal, but not too formal that he gives off the impression of trying too hard. He reckons he’s probably thinking too much into it, but after all, it can’t hurt to appear smart on the first day. He shaves quickly, prim and proper practice in the army making him well suited to everyday tidiness. The pull of the blade and the foamy soap washing away down the sink is almost therapeutic to him, and it takes him deep into thought. He remembers how he got there, nervous for a day job for the first time in years.

 

_ “I know it’s hard adjusting after service, Dick. Believe me, I know.” _

_ Dick looks up from the book he was focused on to face his friend. _

_ “I’m okay, Harry. Honestly.” _

_ Harry Welsh rolls his eyes and throws himself next to Dick on the sofa. _

_ “Okay, no, that’s not what I meant. I’ve got a job for you.” _

_ “I don’t need favours, Harry, I told you I’m fine.” Dick returns to his book, picking up where he left off. He knows he’s not reading it properly, Harry is distracting him. He does it anyway, maybe it’ll prove a point. _

_ “Again, not what I meant.” A pause. “You’re a bit stupid you know.” _

_ Dick gives Harry a once over, before he questions, “did you come over just to insult me?” _

_ Harry laughs and shakes his head. _ _   
_ _ “No, honestly, a good friend of mine works at a cafe that needs new management. I want you to try out for it.” _

_ Dick squints his eyes at him. “What’s the catch?” _

_ “No catch. I just want to see you back on your feet, and I want to make sure Carwood has a manager that actually helps out around the shop.” _

_ Dick let that hang in the air for the moment. Ever since his return from Afghanistan, he’d distracted himself from the memories of service by going on countless runs, adopting a dog, and researching college courses. He knew he had to get back to work, he’d been putting it off for too long.  _

_ He thinks, ‘huh, I guess there’s no time like the present.’ _

_ Dick pulls himself away from his thoughts, noticing that Harry was looking at him expectantly. He smiles. _

_ “Yeah, okay. Sure.” _

 

Dick had gone to the interview with the owner a week later, a brisk and stern man named Robert Sink. Sink was an intimidating man, and Dick had walked back to his flat with no doubt in his mind that he hadn’t got the job. He received an email 2 days later, confirming his placement. A month later Dick was sat on the edge of his bed, briefcase in between his feet, ready as any man could be. He takes a deep breath and looks over at Pat. She’s curled up in her dog bed, her head rested on her paws. She’s looking up at him expectantly, eyes wide. Dick bends down to her and ruffles her head.    
“Okay Pat, I think it’s time to go.”

The walk Easy Beach cafe is short, the early morning sun beating down on Dick’s back a friend, comforting his deep-rooted anxiety. He knows he’s too early, so he walks slowly, enjoying the unusual quiet for such a busy city. He walks across the boardwalk to lengthen his journey, wallowing in the nostalgia that both upsets and calms him. He remembers the midnight walks he used to take with Harry and Kitty across the pier, the old blue benches where he had his first kiss, the ice cream parlour him and his mum used to eat at after her shifts at the diner. The parlour is still open, and the old lady at the desk that has been working there for the past twenty years gives a Dick a nod and a smile as he walks past.

“Glad to see you out again, Richard.” 

Dick only smiles, shrugging his shoulders in response. He doesn’t know if his first shift at his new job could be considered ‘getting out’, but he takes it anyway. The memories are all too melancholy. He remembers the boy he used to before before he enlisted, it makes him feel a little sick. It’s been a long time since he’s been out on the pier, and he thinks to himself that maybe he should go out again sometime. 

The coffee shop is dark inside when he arrives. The sign above the door reads “EASY BEACH CAFE” emblazoned in gold letters on a rustic wooden background. Through the window he sees a yellow light glowing from the kitchen, illuminating the dusty shop floor. The sign on the door says ‘Sorry! We’re closed’, but when Dick pushes at the door, it opens under his touch. As he surveys the cafe layout, a man comes out of the kitchen holding a tray of cooked pastries. He stops when he sees Dick, and says “Sorry, we’re not open yet.” The man is slightly smaller than Dick, his hair a light brown, gently combed backwards.

“The door was open.” He replies stupidly, and then, as an afterthought; “I’m Dick Winters, I think Sink told you I was coming today?” 

The man lets out a quiet ‘oh,’ before placing the tray down gingerly beside the tills and turning to him.

“Yeah, he did. I’m Carwood Lipton.” He takes off the oven gloves he’s wearing and wipes his hands on his apron before reaching out to shake Dick’s hand, who gladly obliges. “I run the kitchen. I help out on tills if it’s super busy, but I mostly bake the cakes and make the occasional cheese and tomato sandwich.” Dick smiles at that. They fall into a comfortable silence while Dick walks around the cafe, noting that the chairs are all stacked neatly upside down on the tables. There’s little to no decoration, and Dick makes a mental note to mention that when the assistant manager gets in. The counter is long, nearly the entire length of the shop, and there are two tills placed on the left-hand side. There’s a large glass section already half filled with freshly baked goods, which Dick assumes is all because of Lipton. The glass is open at the top, and he can still see the steam rising from the pastries, swirling up and filling the air. Dick points the food out, “you made all of this already?” He doesn’t try to hide the awe in his voice. Carwood smiles, “they’re usually all pre-rolled the night before, so I usually just come in to do finish touches and to cook them.”

“Who rolls them?”

“George. He works the night shift. He’s pretty reliable, he does most of the shifts on his own.”

Dick frowns. Being alone on a shift is never good, especially in a cafe at the heart of a big city. It’s good for safety, and for exhaustion purposes.    
“You don’t have anyone else on the night shift.” He states.   
Carwood shakes his head. “Dike refused to hire anyone based off financial reasons, so he came up with the compromise that he’d cover the shifts with George.”

Dick had only heard snippets of rumours from whatever Harry had told him, but from what he’d heard, no one seemed to trust him. According to Harry, the only reason Dick was able to get the job was because Dike was fired after a long ordeal for neglect. 

Dike shook his head. “Let me guess, Dike never showed.” 

Carwood scoffed, “not once. We’ve been going to Sink for months about it. It was only when Sink came in one night for coffee that he decided he really needed talking to about it.”

“And here I am.” 

Carwood smiled. “Are here you are. Do you want a tour of the kitchen?”

Dick nods. “That would be great.”

Carwood pushes open the two oak double doors beside the counter and motions for Dick to go in before him. It’s a small kitchen, but a relatively large size for a cafe. There are 2 large steel ovens, already on. There’s a myriad of dough and uncooked pastries, cakes wrapped in film, loaves of bread unbuttered. Dick wonders if it’s overkill and if this much food is really going to be sold so quickly. Lipton gets into explaining the machines and the general daily shift in the kitchen. They’re walking back out of the kitchen when Dick says, “So Harry Welsh tells me you’re friends. He’s the one that told me about the opening.”

Lipton starts pulling the chairs off the tables and setting them upright as he replies. “Yeah, we know each other.”

Dick decides to take his jacket off, hanging it over one of the chairs as he helps set up shop. Carwood gives an appreciative smile before he continues.   
“His bar isn’t too far from here. He’s pretty much a regular, and most of the employees here are regulars at his bar.” Dick knew about Harry’s bar in passing. He’d got home from Afghanistan only 18 months before Dick, but in that time he’d built his father’s business up from the ground. “How do you know him?” Lipton asks him. 

Dick thinks on that for a moment before he replies. “I grew up with him, I guess. We enlisted together but got put in different platoons so I haven’t really seen much of him for six years.” Carwood nods. He opens his mouth to speak, but the bell chimes as someone else walks into the store. Dick almost turns to say that they’re not open yet, but the voice says “hey, Lipton!” and then three things happen almost simultaneously. Lipton stands up to greet the voice, Dick turns around, and his heart immediately drops to the floor. Shaking Lipton’s hand is a man around the same height, with hair a dark black and a stance that seems to ooze relaxation. He’s leaning almost his entire weight on his right leg, and his shifting only tells Dick that he’s uncomfortable standing. He decides to greet the man before he’s caught staring, and the man looks his way as he begins to walk over. 

“Ah, this is Lewis Nixon, he’s the new assistant manager. Nix, this is Richard Winters.” Carwood says as a way of introduction.

Dick smiles and holds his hand out at the newly acquainted Lewis, who hesitates a moment before he takes it. A grin slowly but surely grows on his face, as he replies quietly, “Richard…” and takes his hand.    
  


Now so close to him, Dick can’t help but notice that the clothes he’s wearing are army-style neat, but he has a few days stubble growing on his face. Dick has the passing thought of wondering what the burn would feel like to kiss him, before he realises how many seconds have passed. Lewis’ eyes are a chestnut colour of brown, and they are staring at him. Dick is still holding his hand, long passed shook, and it’s only Lipton’s quiet cough in the background that brings him back down to earth, letting Nixon go all too reluctantly. Dick notices Lewis’ eyes follow him still as he turns to Lipton and smiles. 

“You mentioned an employee list earlier?”

 

Lipton pulls out a folder from underneath the counter when the bell goes for a third time. The man only has one foot in the store before Lipton breathes a sigh of relief and says, “Grant, hold the counter will you? I’m going back for a bit.” The man nods silently and starts flicking the light switches on. Dick grabs his briefcase and jacket back up as Lipton leads them back through the kitchen and through a door at the back, leading to a long staircase. The wood is worn and flaking in the middle from constant back-and-forths. Dick makes a mental note to bring this up to Nixon later. They reach a door labelled ‘Manager’, and Lipton swings the door open, revealing a small wooden desk, an even smaller table, and a few misplaced chairs. Lipton gestures to the chairs, pulling a list out from the folder. He clears his throat once they’re all sat down, and begins moving down the paper.

“Okay, so at the top, we have Robert Sink, the owner. We only contact him for job opportunities, building permissions, or anything seriously drastic.” He points to the top of the page, were a detailed hierarchy displays the list of employees and their contact information. Before he can go down any further, Dick stops him. “If Dike was so useless–”. (Nixon snorts in response.) “–then who was doing all of this paperwork?” 

“Someone had to do it,” Lipton answers modestly. He continues before Dick can respond to that. “Next we have you, Richard. General manager. Then Lewis, assistant manager. I’m labelled as kitchen manager, but nearly everyone helps me out in that area.” He nods to both of them.    
“After that we have baristas. Chuck Grant is the main day shift employee, he’s the guy you saw downstairs, he works full time during the week. He’s pretty reliable, but he’s been given a fair few warnings about being late.” Dick remembers the tired eyes and hazy expression he noticed on Grant.    
“George Luz works the night shifts Monday through Saturday, since we’re not opening late on Sunday’s. He’s at UCLA, as with most of the customers we have here. He’s been consistent with his shifts and though he can be quite loud, I’m not sure he’s called in sick once since he joined 2 years ago.”

“Babe Heffron is our summer barista. No one knows his real name, and at this point I think we’re all too afraid to ask. The customers love him, he’s a real crowd pleaser. He should be back in for the lunchtime shift next monday so you can meet him then.”

“Floyd Talbert is our delivery guy. We used to have a couple, but I guess he just really loves the place. He usually stays over a coffee before he leaves.” 

Dick soaks up all this information, noting the names down as he follows Lipton’s finger down the page. The room goes silent for a moment as Dick and Nixon try to remember all the names.  _ Grant. Luz. Heffron. Talbert. Grant. Luz. Heffron. Talbert. Grant. Luz. Heffron. Talbert. _

He turns to Lipton then. “I can’t guess the popularity of the place, but it seems a bit short staffed, considering it’s on the beachfront of a pretty densely populated city.” 

“Honestly, sir, we could use some more hands. Luz is good at what he does, but we need another night shift barista, if only for security. And after that probably at least two more for the lead up to summer.”

Dick nods and turns to Nixon, who he finds already looking him. Nixon just gives him a small nod at both of them before stretching. 

“All right. Let’s get to it.”


	2. Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us go then, you and I,  
> When the evening is spread out against the sky  
> Like a patient etherized upon a table;  
> Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,  
> The muttering retreats  
> Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels  
> And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:  
> Streets that follow like a tedious argument  
> Of insidious intent  
> To lead you to an overwhelming question ...  
> Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”  
> Let us go and make our visit.  
>  \- t.s.eliot

Babe Heffron loves Boston, he really does. He loves his friends, he loves college, for once he’s really enjoying studying. But, standing on Santa Monica pier, breathing in the fresh scent of the salty ocean waves, Babe can think of nowhere he’d rather be. Re-adjusting his backpack, he turns away from the water and walks the route now forever etched in his memory, leading him right to the front doors of Easy Beach Cafe. The handle is cold when he pushes it open, but the once cracked wood of the door is now covered with a fresh, dry coat of paint. The brown shine glimmers in the midday summer sun, and Babe thinks it can’t have been there long. The first thing he smells walking into the shop is the faint scent of disinfectant, and then the overpowering smell of pastry. The cafe is already half-full. Grant is a familiar face, standing by the tills, chatting to a man across the counter that he doesn’t recognise. He grins, already feeling settled. No one’s noticed him walk through the door, despite the familiar ding of the bell behind him. A hurried Carwood Lipton runs out of the kitchen, a billow of smoke following him. 

“Did I come at the right moment?” Babe asks, eyes following Carwood.

Lipton and Grant look up at the same time, both breaking out into smiles.   
“Babe!” Grant shouts. The man across the counter chokes into his drink as Lip shuffles over to him and pulls him into a hug. Babe pats him on the back, thankful for the comforting welcome.

“I’ll brief you when you come back down.” Lipton says, pulling away, “the new managers are upstairs, they’ll want to talk to you.” 

Babe’s worry must show on his face, because Grant calls out, “Don’t worry! They’re nice!”

Babe trusts Grant judgement, but as Lipton ushers him up the stairs, he has a horrible realisation that he’s had that exact conversation before. 

_ “Don’t worry. Norman Dike is nice. He’s a good man.” Sink is smiling at him, and Babe shakily nods his head. He stands up and wipes his sweaty hands on his apron before shaking Dike’s hand.  _

_ “I’m thankful, Sir.” _

It’s almost like deja vu, because Babe hands are sweaty again as he knocks on the door to the manager’s office. There used to be a plaque reading ‘Norman Dike’, and before that ‘Herbert Sobel’. Now, a light brown square of colour is all that remains. A muffled voice behind the door calls “Come in!”

There’s a man sat behind a desk, and another on the other side, feet propped up on it. Before Babe can introduce himself, the man behind the desk says “Lewis, get your feet off the desk.” 

The man named Lewis complies with a grimace, before the other man stands up and introduces himself as Richard Winters, the new manager. “You must be Heffron?” He asks. He walks around the desk and reaches his hand out.

Babe takes it, nodding, “Everyone calls me Babe, sir.”

Winters smirks, “Carwood mentioned that, yes.”

Lewis doesn’t stand up, just leans over and shakes his hand too. “Lewis Nixon. Assistant manager. Carwood says you’re the customer favourite.”

Babe doesn’t know how to respond to that. Lip was loved by colleagues and regulars alike. Babe isn’t sure that half of their customers aren’t there just from the Yelp reviews of his pastries. He’d always thought he was the most annoying barista this side of California. He doesn’t say that out loud, but takes the seat Winters offers. There’s an awkward silence, so Babe says the first thing that comes to his head.   
“There’s no plaque on the door.”

Nixon nods, “Yeah, Dick’s listed the changes he wants around here, and that was the first thing to go.”

That spikes Babe’s worry. He always thought of Easy as a second home to him; a job that would always be there come summer time. Now he wasn’t sure. He takes a deep breath.   
“The first thing to go?” He asks, toeing the line.

Winters face turns into one an expression of pity, “Oh no, don’t worry. We’re not going to let you go.”

Babe nods, relaxing slightly. He can imagine his father’s reaction if he came home jobless, but he doesn’t want to. 

“If anything,” Winters continues, “we need more people.”   
There’s a pause, and Babe wonders if he’s supposed to react. He flicks his eyes between Nixon and Winters, who are both looking at him expectantly.    
“Right…” He says, not understanding where they’re going with this. 

“We’ve got a couple people coming in for an interview today. We want you to tell us what you think of them, how you feel around them. That sort of thing.” 

Babe nods. “I can do that, but why?”

“We value our workers more than anything,” Dick says, “We want someone you guys are going to trust. After all, you’ll be the ones working with them.”

 

––

 

The first person comes in around 2:45. Babe settles into the job easily, as if he’d never left. The cafe is still busy, but the lunch rush has ended, and Babe has taken to throwing one of his college textbooks on the counter, propped up against a large salt shaker. The man orders a diet coke, then as an afterthought, as if he’d forgotten, adds, “oh, I’m here for an interview?”    
Babe rings up for Dick, and gestures to a seat by the counter.

“You got a name?” Babe asks, piling up the empty mugs scattered about so he can wipe down the sides. His goes over a rough patch on the counter and tries to scrub it off, but it doesn’t relent.

“Uh, Warren Muck. Everyone calls me Skip.”    
Babe grabs a knife from under the counter and scratches at the stain, and lets out a quiet “a ha!” when it starts to come off.

“Bit of a strange nickname.” When the man doesn’t reply, he looks up. Skip is squinting at him. He points at the name badge on his uniform in reply. Babe laughs and nods, “yeah, okay.”

Dick comes down to collect Skip, who leaves half an hour later, pointing finger guns at Babe with a big grin that screams over-confidence. Babe grins back. It’s infectious.

 

The second person comes in 20 minutes later, and orders an americano with milk, with an extra shot of “I’m here for an interview.” The man watches Babe intensely as he makes the call up to Dick. He sets his drink in front of him, and before he can ask, the man says, “My name’s Roy.” Babe blinks. 

“Well, since we’ll be working together soon, I thought you should know.”

Babe squints at him, nodding slowly. “Right.”    
Apparently he has nothing more to say, because he spends the next 5 minutes watching Babe serving customers before Dick comes down to get him in an uncomfortable silence. 

 

The last person in for the interview comes almost passes number 2 on his way out. His uniform is smart casual, and his face is set with grim determination. Babe has his hand out on the radio before the man is halfway across the cafe. “I’ve got an interview at–,” he checks his watch, “–2:15?” Babe nods and rings up, and says “you want a drink while you wait?”    
The man sits jumps on one of the barstools, leaning up against the counter. “Uh, yeah, you guys do syrups?” 

Babe hands him a menu with the list, and it only takes a couple minutes before he’s waving him over again.    
“Uh, yeah, can I get a venti cool lime refresher, no water, substitute lemonade, no limes, no ice, three pumps of peach syrup. Thanks.” The man smiles and hands back the menu, baring his teeth. Babe stares at him for a moment, taking the menu silently.    
“I meant a water or a like… filter coffee.” He replies, mostly to himself, before he grabs a plastic cup from behind him and starts pumping the syrup.

 

Dick comes down almost an hour later and gives Babe a tired nod. “What do you reckon?”

Babe has been thinking about it all day, deliberating. “The first guy. I liked him.”

Dick smiles at that, “Warren. I thought you would. I liked him too, the hours just don’t match up. Lewis and I are thinking probably Bill.”

Babe gets confused by that, “Bill?”   
“Yeah. Short guy. The last one that came in.”   
_ Oh.  _ It occurs to Babe then that he never actually had a proper conversation with the guy.

“You okay with that?” Babe turns, and Dick is looking at him intently, waiting. Babe is almost startled by the faith this stranger has in him and his judgement. 

“As long as you don’t pick that Roy guy, I’m good.”

 

––

 

A man comes in a day later that Babe instantly recognises. He has a knack for remembering every single regular, despite the long gap between winter and summer break. The workers from Harry Welsh’s bar (confusingly named Three Miles Up, Three Miles Down) across the street are all known by name to Babe, including the lifeguards across Santa Monica pier, and the students from UCLA and USC that have decided Easy Beach Cafe is now their second home for studying. The man that comes in is called Joe Liebgott, a night shift employee at Three Miles. Babe smiles as he walks through the door and beckons him in.   
“Hey Babe!” he shouts. 

“Hey Joe.” he smiles. “What will it be?” 

“Surprise me.”    
Babe’s gotten used to Joe’s insistence on being extremely vague with his coffee orders, but after 6 months away, he takes a second before springing into action. He whips up a quick hot chocolate and places in front of him, Joe’s face lighting up instantly at the smell. Babe’s learnt by now that ‘surprise me’ really just means ‘give me anything with chocolate’.   
“How’s college going?” Joe asks. 

Babe shrugs. In all honesty, he knows how it’s going. It’s probably the best decision he’s ever made, his grades are higher than they ever were in California, and he couldn’t be happier. Instead, to Joe, he says “it’s good. How are things down at Three?”

Joe doesn’t answer, and when Babe looks up it seems his attention is elsewhere. Babe nudges him slightly, “Joe?”    
Joe still doesn’t budge, his focus unwavering, so Babe attempts to follow his line of sight. On one side of the cafe is a wall of windows, one of them being a glass door. This gives the patrons a view of Santa Monica pier and the beach below. There’s a 2 seater table in the very corner beside the glass, and sat there is a man with curly windswept hair. He has a laptop and a pile of books sat in front of him, but they are untouched. Instead, his head rests in hand, elbow leaning on the table in front, while he looks out at the sea. Babe is too far away to tell, but the look in the man’s eyes is something he can only describe as a fondness only a little short off admiration. When Babe turns back to Joe, he sees the exact same look in his eyes.   
Joe stays for a little over an hour, sneaking glances at the man and making broken conversation, before Babe has to practically force him out of the door. “You’re going to be late!”    
“I can be late!”

“No you can’t, fuck off!”

It’s all in jest, really, and Joe’s tiny growing infatuation is unspoken, but Babe knows it’s there. That’s why when someone comes in and calls out to the man a couple hours later, Babe send Joe a text under the counter.

 

_ From: Babe _

_ To: Lieb _

 

_ His name is David. _


	3. Grant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The river sparkles in the sun  
> Whilst gently flowing by,   
> The fields of corn are turning gold  
> And swallows fill the sky,   
> And there are no clouds above us  
> And the day's so clear and blue,   
> There's nowhere else I'd rather be  
> Than being here with you.  
> \- Andrew Blakemore

 

Chuck Grant wonders, for a second, how he got so lucky. He has friends who support him, a great job, and someone who smiles at him so widely he thinks it could keep him warm for the rest of his life. Then he opens his eyes. The bare mattress beneath him and the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling says it all.    
He rolls out of bed and slams the coffee pot a couple times before it shudders and sputters out a couple drops of coffee. He resigns to himself that he should probably go out a buy a new one, but until then he guesses he’ll have to continue stealing the odd cup of coffee from work. From the window in his kitchen, he can see a gray building. There’s a graffiti spray painted on the side, and he doesn’t know what it means. He sits on the countertop, coffee in hand, and stares at it, trying to decipher its meaning. Grant doesn’t know how long he stays there, but by the time he comes back to himself his coffee is cold and he’s late for work.

 

The bell rings as he walks through the door. It’s harsh and shrill at 7 in the morning, and he winces.

Lipton waves at him as he walks through the kitchen and into the back room, and he throws him a sleepy smile back. Carwood Lipton has never missed a day the whole time he’s been there, and Grant wonders if he’s ever missed a day in his life. 

There’s a mirror in the staff room, and he gives himself a once over before leaving.    
“I look like shit.” He whispers to himself. He half-heartedly attempts to flatten down his hair before he throws his bag on one of the sofas and leaps down the stairs, three steps at a time. He hasn’t got anywhere to be, he just enjoys the annoyed shouts Lip sends after him.    
“If you keep doing that, one day you’re going to slip and break your neck.”   
“That’ll be the day. We opening soon?”

“Give it 10, Babe should be here soon.”    
“Babe is on the morning shift?” 

 

He gives the door a quick wiggle to confirm it’s locked before he leaves through the back door. In the time it’s taken him to get to work and get everything ready, the city seems to have woken up. The alleyway behind the cafe is closed in, the sun shadowed behind the tall buildings either side. A billow of paper rolls past him in the morning wind. As he pulls out a cigarette and lights up, he kicks a scrunched up paper bag floating by, in boredom more than anything. He takes a drag of his cigarette and pulls his leg back to score a goal before a van appears at the edge of the alleyway and begins reversing in. He lets himself smile for a split-second as he recognises it, before returning to his regular stony expression. The back bumper is a few screws off falling off, and the left wing mirror is cracked. He knows exactly who’s driving it, but he can’t help feel a bit nervous.

“Floyd.” He greets as the man parks up and jumps out of the van. “You’re early.”

Talbert shrugs in response as he throws open the back doors. “Thought I’d get it over with.”

Chuck frowns at that. He knew deep down that the feelings he was growing for the man was one-sided, but it didn’t occur to him that Floyd would throw him off like that.

“You okay?” Chuck asks.   
Floyd wanders over and slams a crate of bagged milk on the floor beside his feet. “I’m fine.”

Chuck watches him for a minute, finishing his cigarette, Tab refusing to meet his eyes.

 

_ “Chuck Grant, I’m the day shift barista.”  _ _   
_ _ The man in front smiles, and Grant feels infectiously happy.  _ _   
_ __ “Floyd Talbert. People call me Tab.”

_ When Chuck shakes his hand, it’s warm, and if he were able to see it, he could imagine the glow rising up and through Chuck’s body. He feels like he’s floating, and he doesn’t know why. _

_ “Nice to meet you Tab.” He grins. _

 

Tab sets the last box down, and finally looks up at him. There’s both pain  _ and  _ anger behind his eyes, and Grant opens his mouth to apologise. For what, he’s not sure. He’s interrupted as the door swings open, and a bouncy Babe shouts for him. If possible, that just makes Tab more angry as he turns towards the voice.   
“Yeah Babe?”

“Lip wants me for something, he asked for you to cover the till.”   
Grant rubs a hand across his temple tiredly, and nods, “Sure, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Babe turns to go, but Tab calls out to him and he turns back round. He slowly points to the name badge on his shirt that says “Babe” with a smiley face written next to it in red sharpie.   
Babe looks down and laughs, “Yeah, people tend to point that out.”   
He walks away and Grant gives Tab a confused look, “You sure you’re okay?” He asks.

“He-” he takes a deep breath, “His name is Babe?”   
“Yeah, why?”    
Tab groans, “He came in last week when I was here, remember?”

Grant frowns, confused. He tries to remember back through a week of manager meetings, the heating dying at his apartment, his sister calling with bad news, a tsunami warning, Babe coming back from college, Grant calling out to him, Tab almost spilling his drink down himself, him running off in a hurry–.

“Oh my god.” Grant realises. 

Tab grimaces, “There you go.”

“You thought I was dating Babe?  _ Babe? _ ”

“You literally called him Babe!”

“That’s his name!”   
“ _ Well how was I supposed to know that!?” _

Chuck doesn’t know what comes over him, but from one second to the other, he bursts out laughing. Tab looks on confused for a moment before he starts laughing too. The sound echoes off building walls, and Grant reckons there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

 

Dick rings downstairs a couple hours later, and Chuck thinks he must be getting early mornings like Lip because he hadn’t seen him come in. He puts Babe in charge of the tills before heading upstairs, and when he heads into the manager’s office both Dick and Nixon are sitting at the spare table pouring over a stack of papers. They look up when he walks through the door and Dick smiles, “Hey Chuck, how are you?”

Chuck tries to smile back but it comes out as more of a grimace as he says; “I’m fine, you said you needed me for something.”

Nixon points to a spare chair and starts explaining as he sits down, “We want to change up the drinks menu a bit, but we need your advice on it. You know what’s most popular and what the people want.” He picks up a group of a couple pages stapled together and hands it to Chuck.

“This is the new menu?” He questions, pointing at the paper. He knew the menu needed updating, sure, but there were at least 75 drinks on there, if not more.

“No, no, this is just the shortlist.” Dick answers.   
Chuck scans through, mentally picking out a couple that come to mind. “Do you have a pen?”

Dick reaches over to the desk and grabs a pen out of a pot, handing it to him. He reads through the paper more thoroughly, crossing through drink after drink. When he’s done, he places the pen down and looks back up at his managers. He waits for them to say something, but they’re looking at him expectantly, so he carries on.   
“I appreciate wanting to stand out from the other 8 million coffee shops in Santa Monica, but you need to do it by adjusting to their tastes. Making obscure coffee like a barraquito will not only probably waste ingredients, but you’re also aiming at a very niche audience.”   
“So what do you suggest to make as stand out?” Nixon asked. 

“Push the seasonal menus. It’s a beach city, people come here for the heat.”   
Dick smiles at him then, and Grant doesn’t doubt for a second that it’s genuine. He’s so used to begging Dike to change and fix things that he’s thrown off by his sincerity. He shakes his hand when it’s offered to him and nods at their thank-you’s, before his walks back downstairs, confused.

 

––

 

_ From: Floyd Talbert _

 

_ lunch w mum. coffee @ the penthouse just doesn’t live up 2 urs. _

 

Chuck’s phone is snatched out of his phone before he has a chance to reply. The thief lets out a resounding “ooh!”, and Chuck groans.   
“Babe. Give it back.”   
“Fine, jesus.” He clicks it off and hands it back. “Just wanted to know who’s got you so giddy.”   
“I’m not giddy.”   
Babe laughs, “Come on, dude! I wish someone made me that happy.”   
“Babe, everything makes you happy.”

Babe smile slips off his face at that, and Chuck is about to apologise before he realises that his eyes are no longer looking at him. When he turns around, he finds his focus on a man at the counter. He’s looking at the menu above their heads so he can’t see Babe’s unwavering stare, which, Grant thinks, “ _ Thank god.”  _

The man is young, and Grant tries to discern in his head whether to call him “boy” or “man”, deciding on the latter only by the order he asks for.   
“4 shot americano?” 

“Sure, Heffron can you get on that?”

He turns to Babe and hands him a large mug, who stares at it. Babe looks up at the man again, and then back down at the mug again. He does this a couple times before smiling nervously and whispering, “Sure.”   
It’s only when Grant turns away from him that he hears a large smash, and when he turns back to Babe, he’s fumbling over his words, and when he grabs another mug off the shelf, he almost immediately drops and smashes that too. He’s reaching for a third when Grant shouts, “Heffron! Just–. Just leave it, I’ll make it, you go take a break and pull yourself together!”   
Babe takes a last fleeting look at Grant and the customer in front of him before he sheepishly walks through the kitchen doors. Grant turns back to the man, an apology ready on his tongue, when he notices that the man is staring at the kitchen doors with an unreadable expression.   
“Sir?” He asks warily.

When the man doesn’t respond, he tries again, louder, “Sir?” 

The man snaps out of his reverie and turns to look at Chuck.

Chuck wonders if it’s Santa Monica, the hot summer weather, or if the coffee shop has a curse, but he’s almost certain there’s something about the place that makes people go funny and fall head over heels. He takes a glance at the customer and reckons he knows the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get used to these terrible updating schedules


End file.
